


The Listener

by legendofthefireemblem



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-28
Updated: 2015-02-28
Packaged: 2018-03-09 14:42:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3253532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/legendofthefireemblem/pseuds/legendofthefireemblem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Combeferre could always hear music. </p><p>He grew up to the soundtracks of others' lives. </p><p>But it had never been so prominent as tonight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Listener

**Author's Note:**

> Written for  
> [takethewatch](http://takethewatch.tumblr.com) for the [merrymisfest](http://merrymisfest.tumblr.com) on Tumblr.

Combeferre could always hear music. 

He grew up to the soundtracks of others' lives. 

But it had never been so prominent as tonight. 

***

It was the mayor's son birthday party and ten year old Combeferre had never seen so many people in one place before. It was a collection of the most important people in the city and their families. His own father, a well respected Listener, had received an invitation last week and had deemed it an excellent event for Combeferre to attend in order to meet other kids his age. It was partly because Combeferre hadn't brought a friend home from school. Apparently it was all the rage amongst students his age. His father was starting to worry about his son's social life. Combeferre needed friends. And that was final. 

***

When he arrived, Combeferre's father directed him to the front of the room where the mayor and his son were standing. His father went off to talk with the mayor, leaving Combeferre with the son. 

An awkward silence settled over the two. 

The mayor's son glared fixedly at him. Combeferre didn't flinch. "What's your name?" Demanded the mayor's son. 

"Combeferre." Replied Combeferre calmly. There was a pause. "And yours?"

"My name is Enjolras."

And that's when Combeferre heard it. 

A revolutionary melody with a constant drumbeat, almost acting like a call to arms. 

Combeferre frowned. It sounded nothing like any of the songs he had heard throughout his life. If he had to compare it to something similar, Combeferre would say a dreamer - an Idealist. But this wasn't just someone dreaming of a better future, this was the music of someone who was prepared to die for it. 

"A Leader!" Gasped Combeferre. "I thought they were just a legend."

"A Leader?" Enjolras scowled. "I've always been told I was an Idealist!" And then after a brief pause: "You're a Listener?"

Combeferre nodded. "It sounds much like an Idealist's song but the beat is different. An average Listener passing by would think you were an Idealist, but of someone took the time to listen to your song..." It was then that he realized the grim truth. 

"I would be executed for treason," whispered Enjolras. 

Combeferre nodded solemnly. Leaders were dangerous because they could stir the people into an uproar, causing a rebellion. If any Listener heard a Leader's song, they were to report it to the government. Then the government would execute them for treason, on the grounds that they would start a rebellion against the government. The last time a Leader had been executed was 30 years ago, 20 years before Combeferre was even born. Because of this long period without any Leaders, people tended to believe Leaders were only legend; something to give the lower social classes hope so that they themselves wouldn't rebel. 

"Will you turn me in?" Asked Enjolras. 

Combeferre's face fell. What would his father do in this situation? Sure, his father worked for the government, but he was still kind. He had given a poor man - a five in the social standings, the lowest one could possibly be - a job as his assistant, even though the man probably didn't have the necessary training for the job. His father gave the man and his son a place to live and a reliable income that they could live off of, for no reason except to help others. 

"I won't." Promised Combeferre. "I'll cover for you. When we're in secondary school and you need to be verified as an Idealist, I'll cover for you. I swear." 

Enjolras smiled at him. "Our parents are staring at us." 

Combeferre laughed. 

***

When Combeferre and his father finally returned home, they received a warm welcome. 

"Welcome back, messieurs!" Chimed Joly, the son of his father's assistant. "How was the party? P'pa's baked a delicious apple pie if you want some. Although I doubt you're hungry, they probably gave you tons of food at the f'ncy d'ncy birthday party-"

"We're fine, Joly." Reassured Combeferre's father, cutting off the ten year old. Joly nodded, bowed and ran off to the kitchen. Combeferre often wondered why Joly acted more like a servant than a boy who was just two weeks younger than Combeferre. 

_"Do you remember what I've taught you about the social classes?" His father replied when he had asked._

_"Yep. We're ones - those who live in luxury due to high paying jobs, often government or economics." Recited Combeferre. "Next are twos - they live in luxury but they don't have as much money as ones. Then there are threes who are right in the middle; they can afford luxuries but they have to work in order to afford them. Right after them are fours. They have reliable sources of food, shelter and a reliable income, but they can rarely afford luxuries. Finally, there are fives. Fives cannot afford luxuries and are struggling to afford the necessities of living."_

_"That's right. A person's social standing can change depending on how much money they have, a four can eventually - with hard work - become a three. Even fives can climb their way up the ladder."_

_"But father, what does this -"_

_"I'm getting there. If Joly and his father have a reliable income, shelter and food: why are they still fives? Why aren't they fours?"_

_Combeferre shrugged. He didn't know._

_"Because they have a debt to pay. If they didn't have a debt, Joly wouldn't be acting like a servant, he wouldn't be wearing clothes that are too small for him. He would be less worried about his father, less worried about us. Once they've fully paid off their debt, he'll ease out of it - you'll see."_

It had been a few months since that conversation and Joly's anxiousness about his position in the house was still in full force. Combeferre supposed that there was also plenty of interest, making it harder to pay off. But either way, his father tried to help. Combeferre's father gave Joly clothes on his birthday, so that he wouldn't have to wear those that were too small for him and Combeferre - following his father's lead - gave Joly a brand new cravat for his birthday. 

It wasn't until Combeferre was 13, a year away from secondary, that he knew what a five's daily school life was like. 

***

"Combeferre, can you walk Joly home from school today?"

"But father, me and Enjolras were -"

Combeferre's father cut him off: "I have an appointment today and Joly's father is accompanying me. Can you pick him up from school?"

Combeferre frowned. "Father, he's my age. I walk home from school alone some days, why can't -"

"Will you pick him up from school?" Demanded Combeferre's father, raising an eyebrow at his son. 

"Yes, father."

***

"So where are we going?" Asked a curious Enjolras. 

"The Class B elementary." Stated Combeferre. 

"Why?"

"To pick up Joly."

"Joly, as in the son of your father's assistant?" Combeferre nodded. "Hmm." Enjolras seemed lost in thought. "I've never met a five."

They turned the corner and there it was. The Class B elementary. It looked more run down than its richer counterpart, but that was to be expected. The richer social classes - ones, twos and occasionally threes - went to Class A elementary while threes, fours and fives went to Class B. The only way someone who was not a one or a two could get into Class A was by paying - only threes could afford to get in this way, if they even had enough money - or by having a rare talent, like Doctor, Listener etc. However, someone with a rare talent could only enter Class A for secondary school. 

"They're coming out," announced Enjolras, jabbing his elbow into Combeferre's side. 

Combeferre glanced at the students walking out of the school. Many wore jeans and simple shirts which contrasted Class A's usual pants, vests and cravats. Combeferre suddenly felt overdressed - even though he himself had just gotten out of school and had no time to change. 

Combeferre spotted a familiar face in the crowd. Joly was walking with four other boys. They were all talking animatedly, laughing and joking around.

"Joly!" Called Combeferre, waving his arms so that Joly would be able to spot them easily. Enjolras stood at his side, silent and stoic. Combeferre could hear Joly say goodbye to his friends before he ran over to them. 

"Combeferre," he greeted. "And Monsieur..."

"Enjolras." 

There was an awkward silence as the trio began to walk towards Combeferre's home. 

"How was your day?" Questioned Combeferre. 

"Me?" Asked Joly. "It was fine. Nothing really out of the ordinary. Music. Social studies. English."

"Can you write?" Combeferre and Joly turned towards Enjolras, both equally surprised.

"Not well, monsieur."

"Enjolras." Insisted Enjolras. 

Joly sighed. "Not really, mon- Enjolras."

"Can you do arithmetic?"

"Basic operations."

"What do you know of the sciences? What of philosophy? History?" 

"..." 

"Wouldn't you like to learn more? Have a better education? Be able to become a doctor? A government official? Have all jobs open to you?"

Both Combeferre and Joly stared at Enjolras. What he had just said was shockingly abstract. Combeferre sighed as Enjolras' song only became louder, the call to war mood returning. 

"A different education?" Pondered Joly. 

And then Combeferre could hear a soft piano, coming from someone other than Enjolras. He looked around. There was not another soul on the street. He turned towards Joly, his eyes widening. Joly, barely literate and lacking many resources was a Doctor? How? He was confused.

"Joly, will you excuse us?" Asked Combeferre. 

"Of course."

Combeferre pulled Enjolras into the nearby side street. 

"Joly's a Doctor," he hissed, still shocked by what he just heard. 

"What? But he's a five!" Exclaimed Enjolras. "He can barely write and do arithmetic, much less do biology, chemistry and physics."

Combeferre shrugged. "I don't know. He just is -"

He was cut off by a shout from the street. 

It was Joly.

***

Combeferre and Enjolras ran back to the street. There was no one in sight. Joly's sack lay on the ground, abandoned. Combeferre groaned as he picked up the sack. He finally understood why his father had wanted him to walk Joly home. This was a neighbourhood full of ones and twos; a lone five would be vulnerable to all those who wanted to cause trouble and had the money to cover it up. 

Enjolras nudged Combeferre and pointed at an alley. Combeferre could just barely make out two figures: one threatening another who was pressed against the wall. Before he could whisper a plan to Enjolras, Enjolras had stormed off to where the duo was. Combeferre sighed, following Enjolras into the alley. 

"What are you doing here?" Demanded the one, shoving Joly. "This is a neighbourhood for ones, not a slum for fives."

"My employer lives here, monsieur." Pleaded Joly. "I was just heading to his house."

"Tch. To do what? To steal from him?" Accused the one. "As if no one's heard that excuse before. 

"What do you think you're doing?" Interrupted Enjolras. 

"Teaching this five his place," replied the one solemnly, pressing Joly against the wall, almost choking him. 

"He's not lying," protested Combeferre. "He's one of our servants." He lied. 

"We'll then you should educate your servant on theft. His sack was full of stolen books." Said the one, gesturing to the sack in Combeferre's hand. Combeferre sifted through the sack full of worn textbooks and workbooks when he found a book at the bottom. 

_L'histoire de la France._

It was an old book, one of his father's. A history book. Even though history was a subject in both Class A and Class B, Combeferre knew this wasn't required reading. He glanced at Joly who looked down, refusing to meet his eyes. 

"Let him go." Reiterated Enjolras. 

"We'll punish him at home." Stated Combeferre, features hardened. Shock was written on Enjolras' face. Combeferre wouldn't ever harm a single person except if he had to in a dire situation. Joly stared at his feet, looking even more ashamed.

"Hmph. You better. This kid needs to learn his place." The one shoved Joly towards the duo before walking away. 

***

The walk home was awkwardly quiet, the tension thick and the silence loud. Enjolras waved goodbye when they reached Combeferre's house, whispering "We have to talk tomorrow" into his ears. Combeferre nodded before entering his house, Joly trailing behind him. 

His father and Joly's father arrived an hour later. Combeferre had been in his room, doing his homework at his desk when his father marched up and took a seat on his bed. 

"I know what happened today." Combeferre dropped his pencil from surprise. "Your friend Enjolras told me." Combeferre's head turned to look at his father, now he had his attention. His father put a comforting hand on his shoulder. Combeferre flinched. "It wasn't your fault."

"He's a Doctor." He muttered. 

"Excuse me?"

"Joly's a Doctor!" Shouted Combeferre. 

"I-I see..." His father trailed off. After a moment, his father got up and left. 

And no one ate dinner that night. 

***

He discussed the subject of Joly's talent with Enjolras the next day, skirting around the topic of the incident. 

"He should be allowed in Class A. Doctors need an excellent education in order to properly treat their patients." Declared Enjolras. 

"But those with a lower social class aren't allowed in Class A until high school; then they can get into Class A by talent." Pointed out Combeferre. 

"How many fours and fives do you think are in Class A? Most would be discouraged by social classes alone. The test only adds to the roadblocks they have to go through in order to get a _proper_ education!" Enjolras said passionately. "Shouldn't everyone be able to have a proper education?"

Combeferre smiled. 

***

The first week of secondary school had flown by for Combeferre. He whistled to himself as he walked to his house after school. Now that the first week had passed, Joly would now be able to apply to the Class A secondary. Enjolras was coming over to come up with a plan, a way to best approach the test so that Joly would actually be able to transfer into Class A. After all, he could still be rejected. 

_"Some teachers or students may be prejudiced about it." His father had stated. "Students are less likely to be judgmental about it, so requesting a student be the Listener for the test may help."_

Once Enjolras arrived, they began their meeting. 

"So," started Enjolras. "What did your father suggest?"

"That we have a student Listener instead of a teacher. There's a better possibility for a student to be more open-minded." Reported Combeferre. 

"Joly, have you finished your application?"

"I'm working on it right now, Enjolras." Both Enjolras and Combeferre peered over Joly's shoulder at the form. Joly's writing had improved - thanks to Enjolras' help - from chicken scratch to legible letters. 

"Remember, flattering but not fake."  
Advised Enolras. "Do you have any nice clothes to wear for the test day?"

"I'm switching clothes with Bossuet." At the confused looks from Enjolras and Combeferre, Joly elaborated. "He's a three. He's got nice clothes: vest, proper pants and shoes. I'll also wear a cravat."

"That's fine," approved Enjolras. "They'll look nice enough to not look out of place in the hallway but not too nice that people are thinking that you stole them."

"Hmm. I think that's mostly everything that we can do at this point." Announced Combeferre. "The only thing left to do is wait for testing day." From there, Joly's future would be in the hands of a student who was a Listener. Combeferre couldn't do it, he was the one who was signing the application. He could only hope that they were empathetic. 

"Alright then," sighed Enjolras. "I'll see you tomorrow."

***

They went over the plan the next day. What Joly should say, where Enjolras and Combeferre would be waiting and how that day's schedule went. Combeferre, Joly and Enjolras would go down to the office before lunch. Enjolras and Combeferre would eat lunch outside while they waited for Joly to finish the test. 

Enjolras seemed determined to figure out who the Listener was before the actual test. He would randomly ask Combeferre if anyone around them was a Listener. If there was, Combeferre would point the student out and they would both make a mental note to find out their name. 

When the test day finally arrived, Combeferre's anxiousness and doubts returned. What if the student Listener didn't want Joly to enter Class A? What if the reason almost no one ever managed to successfully transfer into Class A was because the testers and those who read the applications were biased against fours and fives? What if all they had done was give Joly hope where there was none? 

When Enjolras and Combeferre had finally reached the main office of the school, Combeferre's heart was beating so loudly that he could have sworn that Enjolras could easily hear it. Almost as if Enjolras sensed how nervous he was, Enjolras took his hand and squeezed it. Combeferre couldn't stalk himself from chuckling at the irony. Usually, it was Enjolras who was the risk taker while Combeferre would do his best to support him. This time Enjolras had been supporting Combeferre before taking over the project like a natural leader. But no matter which way he looked at it, they had both taken getting Joly into Class A as a serious issue that needed to be resolved and they had both come up with the means to resolve the problem. As good as their teamwork was, Combeferre felt like they needed someone else - someone who wouldn't be afraid to comment on their ideas. 

Before he could give it more thought, they had finally arrived at the main office. Joly was already there, waiting for them. 

"How do I look?" Asked Joly. "These are Bossuet's clothes and he's a bit taller than me. Are they too big? Is my cravat tied the right way?"

"You look fine," reassured Combeferre, adjusting the cravat that he had given Joly on his birthday while Enjolras fixed Joly's messy hair and folded the sleeves so that the shirt wouldn't seem too big on him. 

"Monsieur Joly?" The trio froze as a black haired student poked their head out of the main office. The black haired student chuckled, his curls bouncing as he laughed at the tangled position of the trio. "You guys look like a pretzel!" He snickered. The trio detangled themselves, much to their chagrin. "So which one of you is Joly?" 

"I am," replied Joly, stepping forward.

"Well then, it's time for your test." 

***

Combeferre sat beside the office door, calmly eating his lunch as Enjolras paced in front of him. It had only been a few minutes since Joly had been called in and Enjolras still hadn't calmed down. 

"Did you recognize that student?" Questioned Enjolras, suddenly stopping his rapid pacing. 

"He seemed familiar," commented Combeferre, covering his mouth to hide the chewed pieces of food in his mouth. "He's probably in one of our classes." He paused, tilting his head to the right as he mentally ran though the faces of the students in each of his classes. "I think he's in our history class."

Enjolras snapped his fingers. "You mean that guy who always yells off with your head when someone's beheaded?" 

"That's him." Replied Combeferre, pondering what this could mean for Joly and the test results. The black haired student from their history class was talkative and seemed sympathetic. 

Combeferre's train of thought was suddenly cut off by Enjolras. 

"His name is Courfeyrac, right?" 

Combeferre raised his eyebrows. Enjolras rarely took note of others' names unless they had caught his attention. 

"He's an old friend," explained Enjolras, sitting down next to him. "Our parents were friends, so I often saw him when we were younger. He moved away before I met you though. I think it might have even been during the same year." 

"Oh." Combeferre slouched. Enjolras had never told him about Courfeyrac and Combeferre had never been one to press about the past. "Were you -"

"Yeah, we were close friends," responded Enjolras swiftly, leaning his head back against the wall and closing his eyes. "We had known each other since we were in diapers. My father used to joke that Courfeyrac was the only person who could stop me during a tantrum and that I was the only one who could stop him from talking with a single glance." Enjolras' voice had a tone of nostalgia as he reminisced about his old friend. "We did almost everything together, but that all changed once his father got a job in another city. We both quickly realized - after quite a few fights with our fathers and tantrums, our own 'rebellion' - that there was no way we could stop Courfeyrac and his family from moving. So we accepted it. We said our goodbyes and moved on." Enjolras paused. "I didn't even know his family had moved back here." 

A silence settled over the two as Combeferre pretended not to notice the sudden tone of hurt in Enjolras' voice. 

***

The two finished their lunch in silence when the office door quickly opened and hit Combeferre in the face. 

"The wonder kid is done!" Exclaimed Courfeyrac, marching out, an arm around Joly's shoulder. He was met with Enjolras' glare. "Why are you -"

"Combeferre!" Exclaimed Joly, escaping from Courfeyrac's grasp before running to the aforementioned teen. "Are you okay? Are you bleeding?"

"I'm fine, Joly," reassured Combeferre, holding his hand to his forehead, feeling a bump that would be bruised tomorrow. Sitting up, he glanced over at Enjolras and Courfeyrac, who were locked in a glaring match. 

"Why didn't you tell me you came back?" Questioned Enjolras, arms crossed over his chest. 

"Oh, Enjolras!" Exclaimed Courfeyrac, grinning sheepishly. "I didn't know you went to this school." 

Enjolras glared at Courfeyrac. 

Courfeyrac chuckled awkwardly. 

"Come on Joly," started Combeferre, grabbing Joly by the elbow. "Let's give them some space."

***

Combeferre didn't see Enjolras for the rest of the school day. He walked home from the secondary with Joly in silence. Once they arrived, he headed straight up to the library, closing the door after him. 

It wasn't until Combeferre sat down with a book that he realized that he was angry. But why was he angry? He looked down at the book he was reading _Leaders - A myth or a truth?_. Enjolras. He was mad at Enjolras. 

But Enjolras hadn't done anything to merit Combeferre's anger. He hadn't told him about Courfeyrac but that was no reason to be angry at his best friend. Combeferre sighed. Trying to rationalize his anger was getting him nowhere. He flipped open the book, deciding that it was better to take his mind off it for now. 

He had barely read the first sentence when there was a knock at the door. 

"Come in," said Combeferre, voice strained. 

To his surprise, Enjolras walked in. Combeferre immediately stood up, shocked. "What are you doing here?" He asked, his voice cold and unwelcoming. 

"Are you okay Combeferre?" Questioned Enjolras, concerned. Combeferre froze. Was he okay? He wasn't in control of his emotions right now, that was for sure. All of a sudden, Combeferre felt Enjolras' hand on his shoulder, distracting him from his train of thought. He flinched, not daring to look at Enjolras in the eyes. However, Enjolras stepped into his line of vision. "Combeferre?" 

Combeferre stared at his best friend's handsome face, lips parted. His mouth was dry. When had he started thinking of Enjolras as handsome? He shook his head. "I'm fine, Enjolras." Stated Combeferre, recoiling as his friend leaned in closer, most likely inspecting his face for a lie. 

Then there was a knock at the door. 

"Enjolras," started Combeferre's father. "Your father is wondering when you'll be home." 

"Tell him I'm coming," ordered Enjolras. Combeferre's father nodded and left. Turning back to Combeferre, he opened his arms for a hug. Combeferre raised his eyebrows. Enjolras didn't normally like hugs. He shrugged, leaning into the hug, brushing his lips against Enjolras'. Combeferre drew back, surprised. Did he just-?

Enjolras' face was red. The brief meeting of their lips had clearly surprised him. "I'll see you tomorrow, Combeferre." He muttered before leaving Combeferre alone in the library. 

***

Combeferre wasn't surprised to see Courfeyrac and his friend sitting with Enjolras and Joly at lunch the next day at school. To his surprise though, Enjolras didn't seem to be talking. In fact, the conversation seemed to be mostly taking place between Courfeyrac's friend and Joly. 

"Hey Combeferre!" Greeted Courfeyrac, waving Combeferre over. "This is my friend Jean Prouvaire!" He declared, gesturing at his friend. Jean Prouvaire gave a quick wave before continuing his conversation with Joly, which Combeferre could now hear was about Joly's prior schooling. He sat down in between Enjolras and Joly in silence, taking out his lunch and beginning to eat instead of talking. 

When he was finished his lunch, Combeferre got up and went to the school library, leaving Courfeyrac and Enjolras alone. 

***

Combeferre eventually became friends with Courfeyrac as time went on. He also overcame the awkward patch that had shown up in his and Enjolras' relationship - although he realized that he wanted to further that relationship in the future. School became less of a burden now that he was comfortable with his friends. Months began passing by even faster than before; and before Combeferre realized it, they were in their last year of secondary school. 

They had all grown up, now that he looked back. Joly wasn't afraid to socialize with his former classmates - he was even in a relationship with Bossuet, the boy who had lent him clothes in order to fit in. Jehan - as Jean Prouvaire preferred to be called - had also become a integral part to their little group, and along with Courfeyrac, dragged an awkward boy named Marius into their group. Courfeyrac had become a close friend of Combeferre's, despite the fact that they were at odds in the beginning. However, nothing replaced the intimate relationship that Combeferre shared with Enjolras. They still weren't in a romantic relationship, but neither of the two could deny the immense trust and love they had for the other. 

One day at lunch, Combeferre heard it again. The same revolutionary melody of a Leader, except far louder than he had ever heard it before. "What's your idea?" He asked Enjolras, a knowing smile on his lips. 

Enjolras smiled back. "It's time to help the downtrodden," he stated, the drumbeat in his song growing ever more intense. 

Courfeyrac knew that Enjolras was a Leader - they (meaning Combeferre and Enjolras) had trusted him with the dangerous information due to the fact that he was a Listener and would have discovered it on his own. That didn't stop him from humming the revolutionary tune under his breath though. "The downtrodden..." He mused. "So we'd be their friends?"

"Friends of the downtrodden," pondered Joly. "That's not obscure enough to hide us if we get in trouble." He noted. "Or punny," Combeferre heard him add under his breath. 

"Synonyms for downtrodden," whispered Jehan to himself. "Oppressed, subjugated, abased-" He paused before chuckling to himself. "A B C!" He exclaimed. Everyone at the table turned to him. "We'll be les Amis de l'ABC!"

Joly started laughing next. "ABC! Abaissé! That's genius!" 

"Friends of the lowly! It seems like that's what we are." Smirked Courfeyrac. 

Combeferre turned to Enjolras. "What do you think?" 

Enjolras smile grew. "I hereby name us les Amis de l'ABC!"

Combeferre smiled widely. He could always hear music. 

He grew up to the soundtracks of others' lives. 

But it had never been so prominent as today. 

***


End file.
